Oblitus
by Acaizer
Summary: "He wishes he could take back what he said, but what's done is done, and he chose family over her years ago."


**Oblitus**

* * *

><p><em>i.<em>

He's flying high in the sky, on his broom again. His parents would kill him if they knew he was flying without permission, but he's confident that he's not going to crash, he's not going to fall – and that's really what they're worried about, right?

He bends over, zooming forward. He can see that glittering blue mass far away, and he's determined to reach it. No matter how rich he is, he still lives in landlocked Wiltshire, and there's no sea there. Of course, there's a pool in his yard, but that's not quite the same.

He's so focused on reaching the sea that he only notices the tall tree blocking his path when it's too late to pull up.

He only has time to worry about his broom – it's a Cleansweep Seven, the latest model – before blacking out.

* * *

><p><em>mdxxvii.<em>

He's sitting in his compartment, alone. Crabbe and Goyle have decided to look for the lady with the snack trolley, and honestly, after their botched attempt at taking food from Potter and Weasley, he can't blame them.

Bored, he gets up, intending to look for Crabbe and Goyle. He's about to leave his compartment when he hears a familiar voice: "Excuse me, have either of you seen a toad? Neville's lost one." The voice repeats this several times, getting closer and closer to his compartment. Curious, he opens his door and sticks his head out – and he bangs into someone.

"Ouch!" a female voice cries, and she stands back, holding her forehead.

"What d'you think you were doing, standing right outside my compartment?" he asks. He's staring at her while her head is down, looking at her bushy brown hair. She looks up in indignation, and when he sees her face, his eyes widen.

_It'sreallyherit'sreallyherit'sreallyher – _

"Well, I really don't think that's any way for you to apologise!" she says huffily, and she storms off.

* * *

><p><em>i.<em>

When he comes to, there's a girl leaning against a tree, reading a book.

"Who are you?" The words spill out of his mouth, and they sound much ruder than he intended.

The girl raises her eyes from the book, an indignant expression on her face. "Well, I really don't think that's any way to greet someone!"

He doesn't respond, choosing instead to look around for his broom.

"Where's – "

"This?" the girl says, and he can see that his Cleansweep Seven's lying on the ground next to her.

"What – give that back!" he says, sitting up and making a grab for the broom. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

She looks affronted. "What am I doing here? I _live _here. This is my backyard."

He looks around. For the first time, he realises how small the space is.

"Anyway," she continues, sounding rather excited. "I should be the one asking _you _that question. You crashed into that tree while flying on that broom. How exactly did you make it fly?"

He opens and closes his mouth, wordless. He's accidentally revealed magic to a _muggle_.

"Was it magic?" she leans forward eagerly. "I can do magic too, look – " She picks a flower and he watches, transfixed, as it blooms in her hand.

"Interesting, isn't it?" she says happily. "I haven't shown anything to Mother and Father yet, I'm scared they'll think I'm a freak… but you can do magic too, can't you?"

Silently, he nods.

* * *

><p><em>mdxxvii.<em>

The sorting hat calls her name, and she walks up the steps eagerly, jamming the hat on her head. He watches with bated breath, hoping, hoping…

"Gryffindor!" the hat proclaims, and his heart sinks. He knows that she'd never have been sorted to Slytherin anyway, but it was still something worth hoping for.

As she walks by him, he sees a flicker of recognition in her eyes. His heart lifts, but then her eyes narrow, and she walks past him. He watches as she takes a place at the Gryffindor table, amid cheers and applause.

When he is sorted, when he is sitting at the Slytherin table, he turns around to look around the hall, and his eyes fall on her. She's talking animatedly with a fifth-year, her eyes sparkling, the pale blond boy from before forgotten.

* * *

><p><em>vii.<em>

He keeps returning to that backyard, though he's not too sure why. Maybe it's just the feeling of having a friend, or maybe it's because he enjoys the thrill he gets from disobeying his parents and befriending a _muggleborn._ Either way, every time he goes there, he enjoys himself.

Today, he's brought two brooms with him.

"This is the latest model, a Cleansweep Seven," he says, mounting the broom. "I've been flying for years, and I expect I'll join the school team when we're finally enrolled at Hogwarts. Here, this is how you grip it…"

"You're sitting on it wrong," she observes, and he looks up, stunned. He's been flying since he was _five, _and now someone who's never been on a broom is telling him he's doing it wrong? The girl catches the look on his face and continues. "I mean, don't you think it'll be much easier to fly if you're sitting a little further back?"

He looks down at where he's sitting, and slowly moves backwards. To his surprise, his grip is now more relaxed, and he feels more in control than before.

When he looks up, she's watching him carefully, trying to figure out if he agrees with her.

"Yeah, I s'pose you're right," he mumbles reluctantly.

She grins, happy that she's got him to admit he's wrong – and, more importantly, that she's right.

* * *

><p><em>mdxxxi<em>.

It's their first flying lesson, and he can't _wait _to show off.

He talks loudly about how great he is, about how he's been flying for ages, hoping she'll notice and remember. But a glance at her shows that she's more worried than observant that morning, and he can understand why – no amount of books can prepare her for flying.

Desperate, he mounts his broom wrongly when Madam Hooch tells them to, hoping she'll notice and correct him again. When Madam Hooch corrects him, he looks in her direction again, but he can't see her – she's somewhere behind that insufferable Potter boy, who, he can see, is trying hard not to laugh at him. He shuffles backwards, trying to see her.

When he finally spots her, she's staring straight ahead, focusing on the teacher.

She didn't even bother glancing at him.

* * *

><p><em>xii.<em>

"I cannot believe you did this!" his father says, pacing around the study. "Befriending a muggle… telling her about magic… what possessed you to do such a thing?"

He looks at his father silently, his mind running over possible excuses: _She's not a muggle, she's just muggleborn, she knows magic…_ But none of those will work. If anything, knowing that his friend's a Muggle-born will infuriate his father even more.

His father glares. With a sharp "Deal with him," he leaves the room.

"Your father's right, Draco," his mother says. "It wasn't right of you to tell a muggle about magic. She could expose us. Imagine, being pointed at wherever we go… people acting like we're creatures in the zoo… Come with me." She grabs his hand, and he is lost in a swirl of sound and colour.

* * *

><p><em>mdcccxcvii.<em>

"Filthy mudblood," he spits, and he regrets the words the second they leave his mouth. The Gryffindor team and Weasley leap at him, but he's protected by his own team.

She doesn't recognise the word, and she's trying to stop her housemates from attacking. He watches the rage on their faces, and imagines the hurt she'll feel when she finds out what the word means. He wishes he could take back what he said, but what's done is done, and he chose family over her years ago.

* * *

><p><em>xii.<em>

The sun is setting. He can see his shadow, stretched out long over the grass. He grips his mother's wand in his hand, thinking about what he has to do. He can feel his mother's eyes on him, watching from behind a tree. She's making him fix his own mistake, and he knows how hard that will be.

"There you are!" the girl says, running up to him. "I've been looking for you for ages, look what I can do –" She leans down and picks a blade of grass, and they watch as it turns yellow in her hands.

"That – that's fascinating," he says, a forced smile on his face. "Do something else!"

The girl looks at him strangely, but doesn't seem to think much of his excessive cheerfulness. She runs further away to pick a flower, presumably to show him – again – how she can make it bloom. He doesn't really want to do this, but he must – he must if it will regain his family's trust in him. Slowly, he raises his mother's wand, pointing it straight at her back. Quietly, he mutters the words.

"_Obliviate._"


End file.
